


Aere Perennius

by oneoneseven



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Flashbacks, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Tags Are Hard, Thedas - Freeform, Worldbuilding, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneseven/pseuds/oneoneseven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after the closing of the Breach, Inquisitor Lavellan falls victim to a deadly poison. Moved by grief and anger, Sera seeks vengeance and swears every arrow to the assassins. Cullen only wishes things were so simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I KEEP WRITING NEW FICS but updating all of them slowly lmao I'm TERRIBLE I'm still working on my other DA fic and I've got a Shingeki no Kyojin one in the works... as committed as I am to them, I wanted to see if this plot bunny would take me anywhere so here it is. 
> 
> Few things to note: Leliana's Divine in this story, though the idea that she would come down personally to Skyhold upon hearing about the Inquisitor is not beyond possibility. The Wycome and Clan Lavellan operations are mentioned and brought up here; how it all works out will have to be revealed in due time. I ALSO LIKE DIFFICULT ROMANCES AND MAGE LAVELLAN WAS THE BEST POSSIBLE CHOICE FOR SERA /shot

It was hard to crush an army of Templars, addled by red lyrium. It was hard to fight against Grey Wardens, an order comprising of the most elite warriors and mages, handpicked to be the first line of defence against the Blight. It was hard to fight rogue mages and apostates, and assassins that lurked in the shadows and struck from the darkness. So many of these groups of people – fucking _demons,_ Sera often remarked, regardless of whether or not they were flesh or spirit – have given them hell since the very beginning. She was tired of fighting them, of putting arrows in their throats, but at least she was certain of how she could _stop_ them. It was just the things she couldn’t fight that unnerved her above all else.

Things like ideas, or belief. Those were the things Sera could not put arrows into and watch them bleed out, spluttering and gasping for air. She couldn’t drive a dagger into the heart of corruption, no matter how much Red Jenny fought and rose against the worst of men.

Therefore, it made no sense to wish that she could send an arrow flying into the poison that was presently coursing through the veins of the Inquisitor.

Sera felt her heart clench, as she swept her gaze over Lavellan. The Inquisitor was lying in bed, bearing such a pained expression even in sleep that Sera thought her heart was going to tear itself to pieces if she looked any longer. But she never looked away, despite all that. She didn’t believe in a lot of things, especially not the _elfy_ kind of things, because they were ridiculous and _why the fuck would you put your trust in dead things—_

She didn’t believe in things like that, or people.

She touched her palm to Lavellan’s face. “Revas,” she murmured, and felt the emotions in her threaten to surface. It was rising, like a tidal wave, to the top of her throat.

Her name was the elven word for freedom. Sera had not liked the sound of it at first, because she didn’t think much of her Dalish counterparts. As far as she was concerned, they were no different from the Fereldans, whining about Orlesians and the occupation as though it were still ongoing. She didn’t like whiners, or people who couldn’t let go of the past. It was impractical; it helped to waste away the time and it made one soft and stupid—

But Lavellan— _Revas_ —had proven, to some degree, that names were significant in their own way. Sometimes. It was a rare thing—at least, that’s what Sera had decided, weeks into joining the Inquisition. The Inquisitor had freed people, had closed those icky rifts, had put a stop to Coryphenus. Lavellan had brought—and was still bringing—freedom to people who needed it most. Sera liked that, though she’d kept her feelings about it hidden for the most part, because Lavellan also believed in Mythal, in Fen’Harel, in Elgarnan. Now _those_ names were useless, because they held no power. Sera never understood why Lavellan prayed to them like _they_ were the ones killing demons, like _they_ were around to help close the Breach.

They’d had that conversation a lot, even after Sera insisted that they drop the subject forever. Lavellan had wanted to understand, and had wanted to know if there was a chance she would believe in them.

Sera didn’t believe in things like that. She’d lost count of all the times she’d said that, or yelled that, to Lavellan.

Fucking shite, all of that was. She should have spent the time telling Lavellan how much she didn’t mind her elfy name, how often she found the word _revas_ on her lips at night, and how she’d felt every time Lavellan’s hands touched her skin.

She did not put her trust in dead things. But she would be damned if she didn’t spend the rest of her life in admiration of _her_.

*

“Sera, I insist you eat _something_.”

“Not friggin’ hungry,” Sera growled, keeping her eyes glued to the arrowhead she was sharpening with gusto. “Need to get my arrows ready. Shite, Josie, you’re—”

“Concerned that you are recklessly abandoning your eating habits, yes I am.” Sera could practically _hear_ Josie look to the heavens for help. “Launching yourself into this quest for vengeance is not going to make the Inquisitor wake up any sooner. I know you know this.”

Sera slammed the arrow down onto the table. “Fuck off,” she spat.

A beat passed, and then Sera heard Josie clear her throat. “Well, just know that fainting in the middle of battle because of hunger is not going to get any arrows in quicker. I will take my leave now.”

Sera glared at the wall until she heard the door close behind her. She rolled her hand into a fist and brought it down on the table, hard. The arrows lay in a mess, like her thoughts. There was nothing else to be said, she decided—she was going to find the ones responsible and kill them. It was all she could think of, all that she _dreamed_ of, since Lavellan had fallen into unconsciousness. Sera had been denied the chance to hear her voice, to see those grey eyes flicker her way, and blood would spill for it.

 _Revas_. She picked up another arrow and began to sharpen its head in stiff movements. She was free to do as she pleased. Besides, the world could benefit from a few more dead assassins.

Someone knocked sharply on her door, what felt like hours later. Sera slotted the last arrow into her quiver and let out a sigh as she stood up to answer the door. It must be Josie again, come to check if she was stuffing food into her mouth—

“Sera.” It was Bull.

“Oy.” Sera shrugged, nonchalant. “I don’t have anymore of that Antivan wine.”

“That’s not why I’m standing at your door, kid. Though I do fancy some now...” Bull easily peered over the top of her head. “I see you’ve been waist-deep in preparation. Going somewhere?”

Sera rolled her eyes. “You’re not good at pretending to be clueless and innocent. I’ve got these arrows, right?” She gestured to her bow, propped up against a nearby shelf. “I’m gonna stick ‘em in some heads tomorrow. Probably stick several in one, yeah.”

“I think the point of an arrow to the head is instant death,” Bull remarked, not unkindly. “But you’re the archer, I guess.”

“They deserve more than that,” Sera said darkly.

Iron Bull let out a soft sigh. “Well, there’s that. I don’t disagree, but I don’t remember Cullen allowing _you_ to come along for the operation. The Lady Ambassador informed me you were, well…” He gestured behind her. “You’ve convinced him?”

“What, yeah, sure.” Sera turned to aimlessly rearrange some trinkets displayed on her shelf. There weren’t many left; she’d moved most if not all of her possessions up to the Inquisitor’s quarters after Corypheus’ defeat. She only returned to her little room in the tavern because she couldn’t take the pressure of sharpening arrows in the presence of Lavellan. Even in half-death, Sera was sure Lavellan would find some way to make her disapproval known. “Didn’t he tell you? He must have forgotten, innit?”

“No, he does not forget.” Bull stepped into her room, and already he filled up the remaining space inside it. Sera distractedly wondered what Qunari were fed in their childhood. “Sera, you don’t have to do this—”

She snapped her head in his direction, suddenly furious. “Don’t you start,” she hissed.

“I’m already accompanying Cassandra and Dorian on this mission. With Cullen and his soldiers, we’ve got more than enough manpower on our side. We don’t need an angry elf charging headlong into the fray and risking her life because she’s in grief—”

“Risking my life?” Sera scoffed and turned fully towards Bull. “You think I’d let myself get hit by one of those fucks?”

“People grow careless when they’re grieving and _you know I know how that is like_.” Bull sighed sharply. “I have lost Chargers before.”

“It’s not the same,” Sera looked away, and went back to forcefully rearranging her things. “You don’t—they're just your—” She hurled a little cup she’d swiped from the Winter Palace at the wall and watched it shatter. “ _It’s not the same!_ ”

Bull shook his head. “Josephine thought I could get to you just because we shared more than one lewd joke on several occasions,” he said. “And also because we’re _friends_ , let’s not forget that.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “But it was stupid of me to think you’d take anyone’s advice but hers at this point.”

“Are you done?” Sera scowled.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Bull retreated outside. “I’ll see you at the front gates first thing in the morning, then.”

“Yeah, tell Cullen—what?”

Bull’s mouth tugged into a smile. It was sad, but it was a smile. “Getting deaf, are we? I said we’re going to stick some arrows into heads—together.”

“Oh.” Sera’s voice grew soft. “Yeah. That… yeah.”

“Just promise me one thing—” Bull was already walking away. “Don’t get yourself killed. The boss would never forgive you.”

*

She brushed a lock of hair from Lavellan’s face.

“I’m going, whether you like it or not,” Sera said, into the silence. She watched Lavellan’s face for signs of movement, of consciousness. “I’m glad you can’t get up and have an argument with me about this. We’d take hours, right, and I’d never get to do what I want to. You’re a friggin’ spoiler that way, yeah?”

Sera touched her palm to Lavellan’s cheek. So cold. She brushed her thumb across her skin, tracing the vallaslin like she had so many times before. She had memorized them by now. They were strange, but beautiful on Lavellan. All the other Dalish elves could fuck themselves with their self-pity—Sera only bothered when it came to the Inquisitor.

“When I get back, we can fight about it.” Sera smiled a little, brushing a thumb over Lavellan’s unmoving mouth. “I’ll even let you win. Maybe. It’ll depend, yeah.”

She leaned over and pressed her lips to Lavellan’s. It was different when she wasn’t responding. It was a hollow kiss, but Sera poured everything into it anyway.

She pulled away with tears in her eyes.

“I’m going to kill every last one of them, yeah? And they’ll never touch you again.”

*

Cullen Rutherford was furious.

“You told her she could come with us?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a migraine. “Bull, there was a reason why I explicitly said _no_ —”

“She’s not a greenhorn, Commander.” Bull was standing across from Cullen in his office, beside Cassandra and Dorian. “She’s fought crazy Templars, apostates, demons, _Corypheus_ —”

“That’s not the point!” Cullen sighed. “I am confident in her skills and I know she will be an asset on the field, but the fact is that she’s the most emotionally compromised out of all of us. That will not bode well, Iron Bull. It _will not_.”

“I know a thing or two about letting your emotions guide you,” Leliana spoke up from a corner, where she had been quietly conversing with Josephine. Her eyes grew distant for a moment. “I had someone stop me, before I did something I regretted, but Sera… I do not believe anyone can prevent her from doing anything short of a blow to the head to knock her out cold.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Cassandra stated seriously.

“What’s wrong with letting her vent her anger on these _vashedan_ rogues?” Bull demanded. “They tried to kill—and are still killing—the Inquisitor! You think she would just sit by?”

Cullen shook his head. “Normally I wouldn’t stop anyone from dealing justice where it is appropriate. I wouldn’t do a thing, and I might even be the one to bring the blade down on them as well.” He stepped around his desk, frowning. “But this is more than just a bunch of assassins, and far more complicated than the remnants of Corypheus’ forces.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Dorian said, brows furrowing. “What do you mean by that? What could be worse than Corypheus?”

“You misunderstand,” Josephine said, clutching her writing board tightly. “This is not related to Corypheus. Maker knows it would be so much simpler, if it were.”

The question was clear in Bull's eyes. “Explain, Cullen.”

“What Josephine and I mean,” Cullen said, turning to face all of them with a grave expression, “is that the alleged assassins may have come from clan Lavellan. Leliana’s agents discovered this days after the assassination attempt.” He fixed a stern gaze on Iron Bull. “ _That_ is why I said no. She would kill the Inquisitor’s clan members, and I shudder to think of what Revas might do should she wake to find her family dead.”

“Then why are we bringing so many soldiers?” Iron Bull asked, grimacing. “If we don’t mean to start a battle or spill blood, why the show of force?”

“To protect you!” Cullen looked at Cassandra, then Dorian, and finally Iron Bull. “We do not yet understand their motivations for committing this act, but should they grow agitated at the sight of the Inquisition—I will not let you die out there on the off chance that they _might be civil_.”

“Because watching twenty humans march into the city is not disconcerting at all,” Bull growled. 

Cullen hissed, feeling his patience wear thin by the seconds. “And should they overwhelm you, what shall I tell the Inquisitor? That we _hoped_ her clan would be friendly? Should they die unnecessarily, what shall I tell her? I dread telling her, either way!”

"Why is this even coming up? Doesn't the Inquisition have the gratitude of clan Lavellan after that nasty business with the Duke of Wycome? They are alive because of our aid," Dorian pointed out. "Why would they try to assassinate their own clan member? Why would they want to topple the Inquisition?"

"We know very little," Leliana answered. "With that said, the fact that the assassins were Lavellan elves is a cause for concern. And extreme caution."

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. "It just doesn't make a smidgen of sense. They owe us. Their _First_ is our leader."

"I know no more than you do at this point," Cullen said, exhausted. "The soldiers stay with three of you."

“Let them stay out of sight,” Cassandra suggested. “They can move in if things get ugly—”

“You think the Dalish elves will let unwanted visitors hang around unnoticed in their territory?” Dorian raised an eyebrow, glancing at Cassandra. “And what if they discover our soldiers hiding and decide we are plotting to massacre them? What then? I know _I_ wouldn’t like it.”

Cassandra made a noise of disgust. “We do not have many viable options then.”

“Then we go with mine,” Cullen said with finality in his voice. “Unless you’re telling me you are confident you can escape the arrows of the Dalish elves unscathed and without backup.”

“I am bitter they did this to the Inquisitor, but I will not have soldiers marching in to slay them at the slightest provocation,” Cassandra insisted.

“It is difficult when the Inquisitor lies unconscious. I cannot make any decision like that while she is…” Cullen shook his head, unable to stomach the weight of that decision, and its implications. “The soldiers will not attack, but defend. You have my word.”

“That’s the best we’ll get, then,” Dorian said, glancing up at Bull. “We’d best stop negotiating further, or our commander will have an aneurysm.”

Bull looked absolutely disgruntled. “I’ll only agree if you allow me this: _don’t_ send your soldiers. We’ll take my Chargers instead.”

“You realize shields are better in defending against arrows,” Cullen said.

“Trust me, Commander. My Chargers are more than enough.”


	2. Chapter 2

_1 week after the closing of the Breach_

The roof had become their most frequent haunt.

This had been true even before the final battle with Corypheus, of course, but now with nothing but Venatori stragglers and Red Templar remnants to deal with, Sera thought she might be better off camping out on the roof with Lavellan from now on. They had the option of better privacy up in the Inquisitor’s quarters, but for some reason they couldn’t stay away from the roof.

“It feels right,” Lavellan had said. “This was where we started to get to know each other.”

“And have our biggest arguments,” Sera had added with a wink.

It became a routine Sera treasured. They would retire to this spot after a grueling operation, and if they were lucky they would be able to catch the sunset together. Their conversation topics drifted from the future of the Inquisition to a remodeling of Skyhold (“Butts, Inky. The Orlesians are so wild about that shit…”) and the strange assortment of mounts they’d acquired over the past few months while fighting Corypheus.

Surprisingly enough, Sera would occasionally let the Inquisitor give her a lesson or two on elf-speak. She had originally detested it, but it was growing on her. Andraste’s flaming butt cheeks, it was _growing on her_. What was the world coming to?

“Wait, wait—say that again. _Solas_ means pride? You’re not shitting me?”

Lavellan’s mouth quirked. “I’m not joking.”

Sera let out a cackle of delight. “That’s crazy, right? I mean, do all of you get elfy names that suit exactly who you are?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Lavellan smiled. “Though that would be crazy indeed.”

“Hey,” Sera sniggered, “do you think they have a word for ‘menace’? Because I think that could’ve been my elfy name. _If_ I was Dalish.”

“I hardly think any parent would want to name their own child after Fen’Harel,” Lavellan remarked. “ _Harel_ would be the word that most closely describes a menace, by the way.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Sounds friggin’ pretentious to me. Don’t want it. I’ll be Sera for the rest of my life, yeah.”

“I prefer Sera, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know exactly how to make a girl feel good. They add that to your long list of achievements yet?” Sera smirked, eyeing Lavellan mischievously.

“I wasn’t aware I had one.”

Sera scoffed. “They’re probably writing ballads about you now. The elf handpicked by Andraste, and all that shite.”

“It’s worrying to think what future generations of the Dalish will think of me, in that case,” Lavellan said. “I know I’d be confused. The elders will be cursing and praising me simultaneously for all time.”

“Who cares about all that?” Sera shrugged. “At least we had something to show for it, right? I haven’t seen Fen-whatsits coming out of the Fade for a stroll…”

“You know that was Divine Justinia people saw and not actually Andraste, right?”

“So what?” Sera frowned. “It was a better show than any elven god ever bothered to give, in any case.”

“Really? Explain Flemeth, then.” Lavellan met her gaze evenly. “The whole business about Mythal, and the Well of Sorrows.”

“That—” Sera shook her head. That had been insane, and she _still_ didn’t want to think about it. “That’s just something else. She’s probably just using Mythal’s name, right, to get some credibility. No one would take her seriously otherwise, innit?”

She heard Lavellan’s sharp sigh. “What will it take, Sera?”

“Nothing. I don’t want my head hurting over silly things like that, right? Can we talk about something else?” Sera drew her knees close to her chest, feeling a strange tightness in her chest.

“My beliefs aren’t silly,” Lavellan said. “And for what it’s worth, this entire experience has opened up my mind to the possibility to your Maker and Andraste, as well.”

“Good for you,” Sera snapped. “Don’t let me stop you from expanding your mind and all that, yeah.”

Lavellan’s features tightened visibly. “Alright,” she said quietly, turning her gaze towards the auburn sky. “Alright.”

Before the end of Corypheus, while they were still so caught up in fending off Templars and apostates alike and dealing with rifts everywhere, Lavellan had been more adamant about her beliefs, and championing them even if it meant frustrating Sera to the ends of Thedas. They had known each other even less, then, which understandably led to all the conflict.

Now Lavellan tended to withdraw from the argument first. It was disconcerting to be treated so—so _well_ , if Sera could put it that way. She felt too much like a child being placated. The tightness in her chest grew.

“If it helps, or whatever,” Sera said stiffly, moments later, “You’re the first Dalish elf I haven’t wanted to punch or avoid. Great, innit?”

She heard Lavellan snort in what she hoped was laughter. Anger tended to dissipate much faster, now that the pressure of Corypheus and red lyrium freaks were off their backs.

“I love you too,” came Lavellan’s reply.

Sera sighed sharply. “You’re a friggin’ spoiler, yeah.”

“Better add that to my long list of achievements.” The twinkle in Lavellan’s grey eyes swept the tension from her. Sera couldn’t suppress her grin.

“Come here, you.”

*

“I was wondering if you wanted to come and visit my clan with me in Wycome.”

Sera looked up from her bow, which she had been modifying. Lavellan was standing by the balcony, the cool wind of the Frostbacks sweeping her brown hair from her face. She was watching Sera with a certain caution in her eyes, like she was afraid of stepping on a trap somehow.

Sera set down her bow. “What… you mean… go and see your other people? And—talk to them or… what?”

“That is… the general idea?” Lavellan shifted slightly. “I was hoping you’d take the chance to know more about the Dalish. About my home—”

“Your home’s here, innit,” Sera said quickly. She swallowed, hard. “With the Inquisition. Us.” _Me_ , she thought.

“Yes, but—I am more than that. Than all of this.” Lavellan gestured to the grandeur of the entire room. “I’m not just Inquisitor. I’m—I just want you to know and understand where I come from.”

“I know where you come from,” Sera grinned. “From that bloody Breach, yeah? Out of the Fade and into, well, hell.”

Lavellan gave Sera a look, to which Sera responded with a sigh. _Here we go again._

“You don’t care about who I was before—” Lavellan gestured to something invisible between them, “—this?”

Sera rose to her feet steadily. “Hey, now,” she frowned. “Don’t make it sound like I don’t give a damn or something. I do give a damn, right? I give you more than I’ve given anyone else.” She started walking towards Lavellan, hoping she would understand. “You could’ve been some Qunari lady, or a dwarf or a human, yeah? And I’d still see you the same way.”

“So only your personal perspective of me matters, and nothing else?” Lavellan’s eyes narrowed, grey darkening into an angry black. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re twisting my words and you know it,” Sera hissed. “Andraste’s knickers, you’re difficult to talk to sometimes—”

“And I suppose _I’m_ being unreasonable.” There was a hurt in Lavellan’s gaze that seemed to reach into Sera with a gnarled, rotting hand. “I’m just the fanatic who won’t stop trying to get you to understand my point of view, because I haven’t done that enough for you already.”

“Don’t you dare use your feelings against me,” Sera said, her voice taking on an edge. “It’s not fair, right? It’s not fair at all.”

Lavellan looked away, whether out of guilt or agitation Sera could not tell.

Sera closed her eyes, and turned away from Lavellan. “I’m going to—”

“Sera. Wait.”

Sera looked over her shoulder, and found her familiar grey gaze again. Lavellan took one step towards her, then another, and another until she was close again, and pulling Sera towards her.

“That was—truly unreasonable of me,” Lavellan said. “To use what you treasure against you like that. Never again. You are everything.” She touched her palm to Sera’s face. “Forgive me, _ma vhenan_.”

Sera sucked in a breath, and shuddered at the way Lavellan said the elven phrase. _My heart_. 

“Yeah.” She studied the vallaslin on Lavellan’s face and brushed a thumb absently over her lips before kissing her. Something within her chest sang and fluttered.

_Maker’s nuts. I love you._

“Listen, you… I’ve never been to Wycome,” she contemplated out loud, watching the expression shift on her lover’s face. “So I like seeing new places, right? And maybe—” Sera shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to meet some other decent elves. I’m guessing since they have your name, they wouldn’t be… whatever, right?”

“Right,” Lavellan said, lips stretching into a smile. “Yes.”

There was the look Sera liked seeing. She kissed Lavellan again, and forgot about her bow. Bows and arrows would have to wait.

She had something better to obsess about now.


	3. Chapter 3

_3 days after the assassination attempt_

The road to Jader was unusually busy.  
  
Cassandra had chosen to head down the Frostback Mountains and cut through Gherlen's Pass to Orzammar, where they would find their way to the Orlesian city from there. As their caravan was smaller than the originally intended one with Cullen and twenty other Inquisition soldiers, traveling was far easier to manage; they attracted far less attention.  
  
So far, they'd crossed paths with several merchants headed back towards Orzammar, though a number of surface dwarves had expressly said that they'd find better business in places like Amaranthine, or Denerim. Most of them seemed to be more or less disgruntled at having to move their business elsewhere; Jader was nowhere near the size of Val Royeaux, but it still remained one of the major cities in Orlais. Located just off the Waking Sea, there were more opportunities for those who had interest in fishing and exports (mostly humans and elves; the dwarves prided themselves on their crafts above anything else, and most who had come from Orzammar usually were accustomed least with fishing).  
  
Which was why it was strange, Cassandra mused, that so many were moving at all.  
  
"Where's the shiny?"  
  
Cassandra looked over on the other side of the road, where a caravan had broken down; its wheels had been smashed, and the hide canvas bore large rips. The animal that was to pull this caravan was nowhere to be seen. Two dwarves were presently trying to sort out the mess, one of whom was still talking about finding "the shiny."  
  
Cassandra signaled to the rest to stop before dismounting and hurried across, knowing that she'd heard that voice from somewhere before. When she was only several feet away, one of the dwarves turned around and, with recognition flashing across his face, immediately came to meet her at the roadside, abandoning his task completely.

“Lady Seeker!” exclaimed the bearded dwarf. Cassandra had the notion that she knew this dwarf from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it. As if reading her mind, the dwarf executed a low bow. “Bodahn Feddic, at your service! You were questioning me and my son about the Champion of Kirkwall some time back—”

“The merchant who lived with the Champion?” Cassandra nodded, the memory coming back to her. “Yes, I remember.”

“Fancy seeing the Inquisition out here, on the road to Jader!” Bodahn wrung his hands nervously. “I mean, not to say that the Inquisition is unwelcome, but since the closing of that terrible hole in the sky…”

“We have business in the Free Marches,” Cassandra said shortly. She eyed the wrecked caravan over Bodahn’s head. “Were you attacked?”

Bodahn looked over his shoulder, and seemed surprised at the sight of his own destroyed wagon, as though he had forgotten it was there. “Oh, yes, that—” He wiped the sweat from his brow, turning back to face Cassandra. “Just unfortunate, is all. Some bandits—and in broad daylight! It happened so fast, but I’m thankful they didn’t hurt Sandal— _Sandal, come over and say hello!_ ”

Sandal immediately dropped something he had been holding in his hands and dashed over to where Cassandra and Bodahn were standing. By now, the rest of the party had come to join them, with Sera grumbling about “wasting time” and “losing progress”. Cassandra ignored her, remembering Cullen’s revelation from three days earlier. She would have to find some way to break it to Sera, or else the confrontation with the Lavellans would be a horribly short one. She did not want to know who would be the one suffering losses.

“Hello,” Sandal said, peering up at everyone.

“Well, isn’t he cute,” Iron Bull remarked.

“Have you seen the shiny?”

“The what?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Shiny?”

Bodahn’s brow creased with worry. He licked his lips, eyes darting from one person to another. “Oh, that—um, well, the bandits, when they came… they ransacked Sandal’s enchantment apparatus and equipment and—oh dear, it seems he’s lost his little rock—rune, I mean. It’s a rune.”

“Did you say enchantment?” Dorian’s voice was thick with disbelief. “A dwarf, dabbling with runes?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Cassandra glanced at the Tevinter. “Dagna does all of that, and more.”

“I suppose, but Dagna always said it like she was the only dwarf capable of that. I actually feel like bursting her bubble when we return to Skyhold.”

Sandal frowned a little, looking directly at Cassandra now. “Do you have my shiny?”

“Uh—no I don’t,” Cassandra said, a little dumbfounded. She turned her gaze to Bodahn again. “You say the bandits took his runes and equipment?”

“Oh yes, they swooped in out of nowhere and attacked us. Our poor horse was taken, too.” Bodahn let out a long-suffering sigh. “She was a fine creature, that mare. I don’t understand how they knew I had runes and lyrium in my inventory!”

“I imagine your reputation precedes you,” Iron Bull said. “Didn’t you travel with the Hero of Ferelden at one point, before living with the Champion of Kirkwall for several years after?” He chuckled. “You have an affinity with legends.”

Bodahn laughed nervously. “I certainly see the disservice it does to me now, messere.”

Sera made a noise. “Just friggin’ unlucky then, right? Getting mobbed in the day,” she said, her words riding on impatience. “Let’s just go. This shite happens everyday, innit?”

Cassandra sighed. “I’m afraid there’s not much we can do for you, Bodahn.”

“They can take my horse,” Krem spoke up suddenly. He had wandered away from the rest of the Chargers, who were presently guarding the horses. “Dalish is small enough to ride with me.”

“Cremisius,” Iron Bull said. “That’s noble of you.”

“I know a thing or two about being stranded,” Krem shrugged, lips quirking. He looked to Cassandra. “So how about it, Seeker? They’re still quite a ways off from anywhere.”

“Where are you headed?” Cassandra asked Bodahn. Sandal had returned to his salvaging.

“We were planning to head back to Ferelden, actually. No place like home,” Bodahn chuckled lightly. “I reckon we could get some good business in Denerim. And if we bump into the Hero of Ferelden along the way—that’s where we’ll be!”

“Then a horse will do both of you some good,” Cassandra said.

“Oh, thank you, my lady! And thank you, kind ser!” Bodahn bowed several times. “This means a lot to me. Long live the Inquisition!”

“Long live the Inquisition,” Cassandra heard Sera murmur behind her.

*

Jader looked more or less like Val Royeaux, only slightly smaller. The difference was insignificant, however; rows of frilly architecture lined the white cobblestone streets, with banners flying overhead, draped from roof to roof, as though people were presently in preparation for a great celebration of some sort. Great spires and monuments littered the city. The truth was that the Orlesians simply prided themselves on sense of grandeur, imagined or otherwise. Cassandra saw nothing impressive about it. The only thing worth admitting about any Orlesian city was that they outdid any city in Ferelden or the Free Marches in terms of cleanliness.

They retired their horses at the edge of the city, where a rundown stable stood just a short way from the main gates. The man seemed satisfied with his payment, and promised that the horses would still be here when they returned.

“I’m not Orlesian, so I won’t be eating your mounts anytime soon. Won’t sell ‘em to these psychos, too.”

“What’s a Fereldan doing all the way out here as a stable master? You’d find better…” Dorian considered for a moment, “…conditions elsewhere.”

“Bah.” The man scratched his chin thoughtfully. “People who seek passage to the Free Marches always have some horses to deposit. Plus, they’re always afraid of them being stolen by Orlesians or being traded away by some shady stable boy. I get a lot of business, to be honest. Been getting a lot of movement to and from the Free Marches lately.”

“What’s the word these days?” Bull asked.

The stable master shrugged. “Don’t hear much from the travelers, really. Knife-ears don’t have a habit of making conversation with humans.”

“Elves? Passing through from the Free Marches?” Cassandra frowned. “Is that what you are saying?”

“Yeah, they come in numbers at a time. There was a small caravan of them a couple of days back, anyhow. Didn’t even give me their horses, though,” the man added with a note of disgust, crossing his arms. “Sold them right away. Probably just meaning to take ship and not come back.”

“Yeah, we have business with ‘em,” Sera said, stepping forward.

“Well, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to miss your friends for a bit,” the man glanced in Sera’s direction. “Port’s closed. Or at least, no ship’s willing to take people anywhere.”

“What?” Sera yelped in frustration. “Don’t friggin’ tell me that!”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ ya,” the man replied, obviously irritated. “Port authorities announced it yesterday.”

“Why has passage been cut off to the Free Marches?” Cassandra asked, feeling a sense of dread come over her.

“For one thing, bloody pirates,” the man spat. “And also, there’s been whispers of some shit happening in the Free Marches. Starkhaven’s been quiet, and nobody thinks well of it, because they think the Vael boy might come down with an army soon. Also, Wycome’s been shut off, and when a city’s closed off it ain’t good news. Especially with knife-ears leading council.”

“Excuse me,” Bull said. “I happen to know decent elves who aren’t outrageous racists and terrible leaders.”

The man shifted uncomfortably on the spot, giving Bull the once over and deciding that this was not a Qunari he wanted to offend. “Right, didn’t mean no disrespect, I just…” He shrugged, apparently deciding a half-assed apology just wasn’t going to cut it. “Anyway, that’s about all I know. Enjoy your stay in Jader. You won’t be here long, I bet.”

“No,” Cassandra murmured, “we won’t.”

They passed through the gates and headed straight for the port, ignoring looks and exclamations. They were not bearing the Inquisition’s insignia, but people knew them well enough at this point to recognize them on sight. Cassandra scowled at how blatantly the Orlesians were staring, remembering her experience in Halamshiral, in the Winter Palace. She did not generally despise people, but she had made an exception that night. She found the same unpleasantness surfacing, just a little.

They had to cut through the main square in the heart of Jader to get to the port on the other side of the city. They found a tavern on the western side of the square and decided to take a breather inside, at least away from the prying eyes of nobles. Most Orlesians, at least, thought themselves above the act of drinking in public—or perhaps they were fearful that someone might poison their drink. As a result, most of the tavern’s patrons were travelers passing through, or non-Orlesians: mostly surface dwarves and humans.

Outside, in the center of the square, stood a tall monument of Empress Celene, marble white and shining in the sunlight. It seemed she still had a grip on her rule and continued to avoid assassination attempts. Cassandra had not thought much of her, or Gaspard or even Briala. The privilege of leadership often fell to people who were least suited for it.

Lavellan, however, had been an exception.

Cassandra felt her heart sink at the thought of the Inquisitor, still unconscious from the effects of the poison. They had found a dart on her neck, and no trace of the ones responsible. The guards later reported a group of dignitaries leaving Skyhold with their elven servants, but Josephine’s guest list had only accounted for the men and women and not the elves. Leliana followed up on that lead and soon uncovered their identities, but at the expense of a handful of her agents.

The dignitaries from Highever had been horrified to find dead Inquisition agents in their hold, save for one who had survived the scuffle with the Lavellan elves. They had right away sent a missive to Skyhold, denying claim over the elves, frightened that they were at risk of offending and making enemies of the Inquisition.

Cassandra balled her hand into a fist. There was no way anyone would leave this conflict unscathed. She worried most for the Inquisitor, who would be the last to know. And the one who would hurt most from it.

“Can you believe the prices they’re charging for ale here? _Kaffas_ , even Tevinter would never stoop to this level,” Dorian said darkly as he returned with drinks, alongside Bull. “Ridiculous.”

“Orlesians are a special bunch,” Krem quipped. Several other Chargers murmured in agreement.

“So has anyone thought about how to get across the water, yet?” Sera asked, though she was looking directly to Cassandra. “I mean, since the bloody ships aren’t allowed to go anywhere.”

“Why are you looking at me? I do not have a ship of my own to do such a thing,” Cassandra said.

Sera raised an eyebrow. “We could steal one, right?”

Cassandra glared at Sera. “We are not stealing a ship. The _Inquisition_ is not stealing a ship.”

Sera’s gaze darkened. “Fine.” She stood up. “I’m gonna go take a walk, yeah.”

“Where are you going?” Cassandra demanded.

“Get off my fucking back,” Sera returned, and promptly left.

“I’ll follow her,” Krem said, getting to his feet. “With your permission, Seeker?”

“Fine.” Cassandra sighed, watching Sera’s retreating back. Krem pushed his stool aside and followed her out. “We need to find some way to get to the Free Marches.”

“Short of a ride on a dragon’s back, we cannot,” Iron Bull said, before taking a mouthful of ale.

“Perhaps we could bribe the port authority,” Dorian suggested. “ _If_ this tavern doesn’t deplete our finances by the end of our time here.”

“I doubt they would allow ships to run the risk of bringing back some of that chaos,” Cassandra muttered. “We need someone crazy enough to want to head back to the Free Marches.”

“Crazy people aplenty in this world,” Dorian remarked. “I’m sure someone will turn up eventually.”

“Or we could do the ship-stealing,” Bull said.

“We are not stealing ships!” Cassandra hissed. Just at that moment, she spotted movement at the corner of her eye. She turned, and looked over her shoulder just in time to see several figures exit the tavern.

“Excuse me! You didn’t pay for your drinks!” someone yelled from the counter.

“They didn’t _buy anything_ , you fool!” came someone else’s voice.

“Damn it.” The bartender threw a towel on the counter. “ _Why_ did they close the port?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, considering, before returning to their discussion.

*

“Shit. Fuck. Bloody titfaces. Friggin’—”

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” Krem offered.

Sera stopped midway and glanced at Krem, with thinly veiled caution in her gaze. “What?”

They were walking through Jader’s port, on Sera’s initiative. Krem guessed that she had wanted to see if stealing a ship was actually possible, though most of the time had been spent spitting profanities and some actual spitting on the docks.

There were so few people and even fewer figures of authority present at the docks that no one made a fuss of Sera’s spit on Orlesian property. In fact, most of the people that remained milling about by the docks were either Free Marchers or other non-locals. Krem could see a crew of Antivan sailors, all sharing the same disgruntled expression, and a Nevarran captain trying to negotiate with an officer several berths down.

Everyone here was trapped.

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” Krem repeated calmly. “It’s a swear word in Tevene. Thought you might like some variety.”

“‘Shite’ and ‘fuck’ are good enough, thanks,” Sera said, not meeting Krem’s gaze. “Foreign languages are friggin’ hard to grasp.”

“If you say so.” Krem looked out across the docks again. “This lockdown is really getting on people’s nerves.”

“Yeah. There should be a riot somewhere, right?” Sera grumbled. “Friggin’ fight, already.”

Krem regarded Sera thoughtfully. She was tense, he could tell—coiled and ready to pounce at any moment. She had been the moment they departed from Skyhold, like a watchful creature, threatened by everything around it.

He had been the same, once. When he felt like he had nothing, and everything, to lose. Which was why he felt the need to reach out to Sera and offered to accompany her in the place of the chief.

“So, how many arrows did you bring along?” Krem asked, conversational.

“Plenty,” Sera said, nodding. “My bow’s itching for some kills, yeah.”

Krem let a beat pass. “I had a friend,” he finally said. “Best damned archer you’ve ever seen. Quite like you, really.”

“There ain’t anyone like me,” Sera grumbled, though she let him continue.

“She was in love with this elf,” Krem went on, voice growing distant as he remembered. “Of course, he was terrified, because a slave was a slave and he had no business with anyone but his master—not even a sleeper. She insisted, and somehow they managed—kept this going for years, even.” He shook his head. “Then his master found out and had him flogged and killed, but not before using him for rituals and experiments and the like. My friend... she was hurt, and she was horrified.” Krem glanced at Sera. “But that didn’t stop her from entering that Altus’ home and slaying him. She killed him, then she killed herself.”

“Wow,” Sera deadpanned. “Sorry." It was clear she wasn't. "Is it her death anniversary, or something?”

“No, it’s just a reminder.” Krem bowed his head, picturing his friend's face in his mind. His chest ached. “She thought revenge might’ve been enough, might’ve made her feel better. But it wasn’t.” He looked up, and back at Sera.

“I’m not looking to feel better,” Sera said, lips curved in a little snarl. “Just giving them what they asked for, yeah.”

"That's not—" He stopped short, sensing movement behind him. Someone was getting too close.

Krem had felt the intrusive presence for some time now. He turned, swift, hand falling to his sword—

“And we are here, _elvhen’alas_.” The elf smiled. “Come to receive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: changed krem's recount. decided that a friend would be a bit more believable instead of a sister--krem's family would definitely have been thrown into slavery right away, without krem having to choose between marrying someone's wealthy son or delivering his family unto certain doom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly need to work on fight scenes. Another guest appearance in this one!

The first mistake had been to assume there were only three of them.  
  
Krem drew his sword and shield in one swift motion, stepping in front of Sera. Panic flooded his mind; these were the Lavellan elves the chief had warned him about in private. The Dalish tattoos confirmed it. The elf that had spoken snarled, eyes bright with what looked like mad glee, and drew twin daggers from his belt. The other two dispersed, moving to flank them on the left and on the right. Krem took a step back, knowing that it was imperative he kept all of them in view, and raised his shield.  
  
"Sera," he spoke calmly, keeping his eyes on all of them, "get up where you can cover me."  
  
There was no protest or remark from Sera. She leaped back, locating a suitable vantage point above a stack of crates; cargo that the Antivans had previously been moving. The sailors and seafarers had retreated by now, though not far enough that they were out of sight; this was, after all, somewhat of a break to the monotonous grounding.  
  
"I've got a good spot!”  
  
Krem had barely registered Sera's words when the elves moved in to attack. An arrow zipped past his face, almost grazing his nose bridge; Krem hissed and took a step back, raising his shield to cover his left. The elf racing towards him with daggers glinting in the sunlight took swings at him; his movements were so whip-quick Krem had to take several more steps back to avoid him altogether. Arrows rained down on them from behind Krem, keeping them back—for now. 

A bolt of energy singed the ground near his foot; the third elf was a mage.  
  
" _Kaffas_ ," Krem cursed, turning towards the mage. Sera was keeping the dagger assassin busy, letting loose arrow after arrow with every second. He would have to deal with this one first; he did not like the thought of being electrocuted or burnt to a crisp this early on in the afternoon.  
  
The mage's staff crackled with electricity. Krem sucked in a breath and dashed ahead, bearing his shield frontwards. The elf dodged, leaping sideways, but Krem had already anticipated it. He shifted his weight and followed the elf's movement and knocked him aside with his shield; the mage cried out and flew several feet from the impact. Krem spun, shield raised just in time to deflect an arrow that had come sailing towards him. Another cry—his heart sank as he watched Sera's arrow find its spot in the archer's shoulder— _at least it isn't his throat_ —  
  
The dagger assassin yelled out in Elvish, gesturing to someone yet unseen; Krem turned his head just in time to see several more elves pour in from behind the harbor master's station, and from windows in the surrounding buildings.  
  
The leader of the pack resumed his assault and lunged at Krem, daggers raised—Krem swung his shield outwards, shoving the blades aside, and brought his foot up to deliver a swift kick to the gut. The elf fell into a backward roll and was up on his feet again in a split second. Arrows were coming at them both, left and right, and Krem stopped wondering which arrows belonged to whom. As long as he didn’t get hit. He kicked off and swung his blade at the assassin, who responded with an evasive leap backwards.  
  
"Vinty! Left!"  
  
Without preamble, Krem turned so that his shield side now bore left. Several thwacks of arrows against steel—once the onslaught ceased and the opportunity presented itself, Krem dashed aside and rammed himself right into another mage, slamming the butt of his hilt against the side of her head. A nearby elf cried out in anguish—“Liadan!”—and came forward, staff pointed towards him.

The elf was summoning a fireball—Krem was already shifting his weight, ready to leap backwards—  
  
Everything was turning into a flurry of energy bolts, arrows, and that damned feral elf with the daggers—!  
  
"Get out of the way! Fireball!" Sera was yelling. "Fucking—"  
  
Krem dropped into a roll, narrowly missing the blast of flame. He recovered quickly—  
  
—and realized the second mistake had been to assume that they didn't have to run.  
  
The sudden explosion rocked Krem off balance. Crates and cargo were consumed and destroyed in the inferno. He looked to Sera, who had retreated from the burning mess, looking particularly disgruntled that she'd lost her vantage point. He felt a touch of panic in his chest, watching the elves surround them both.  
  
He backed up, stopping in front of Sera, and raised his shield.  
  
"Oh, _da'len_ ," the crazy elf twirled a dagger in one hand, approaching them in shaky steps. "Feeling cornered?"  
  
"Fucking pisspot, I'll rip your eyes out!"  
  
"Why, because our sister lies unconscious...?" The elf tilted his head to the side, eyes wide.  
  
"Your sist—" Sera frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
The elf let out a howl, towards the skies. "She is our First!" he screeched, taking a step forward. "A bright star in our midst, or so Keeper Lavellan liked to say." He burst into giggles, pressing the flat of his blade against his cheek.  
  
"Lavellan? What? You're all from Inky's clan?" Sera narrowed her eyes, rattled by confusion. Her grip on her bow trembled slightly. "This isn't funny, right?"  
  
"We are her kin!" The Lavellan elf slapped a hand to his heart. "We take matters of _blood_ very seriously."  
  
"Why did you do it?" Krem asked, blade and shield still raised. "Why did you try to kill your own--"  
  
"She is a heretic! Like the Keeper before her, we have discovered..." The elf shook his head, still clutching his chest. "They do not treasure the _elvhenan_ anymore. I can see it. I saw this in Keeper Deshanna, and I see it in Revas. Instead of ruling over the _shems_ , they serve them! They bow to their whims! I, Sule’din Lavellan, have tasted the truth of who _we_ are, and it is more than what we have come to accept as... inevitable. Beyond our control."  
  
"You're fucking lunatics! I should kill you right now--"  
  
"You cannot deny what you see in the mirror!" Sorrow broke across his features. "The reflection shows us everything! _Ir abelas_! We have been far too passive, too complacent! But the Keeper wouldn't see. Revas' letters returned nothing but placating words... and she would rather spend her days with _elvhen'alas_ like you!"  
  
"Getting jealous, are we?" Sera raised her bow, arrow at the ready. "Too fucking bad, yeah?"  
  
Sule’din bared his teeth, snarling. " _Vir assan! Vir bor’assan! Vir adahl’en!_ We are the last of the _elvhenan_ , and never again shall we submit!"  
  
"Krem! Sera!"

Panic lit Cassandra’s features as she came speeding down to the port from the square, with Dorian, Bull and the remaining Chargers close behind.

The Seeker rushed to Krem’s side. “Stop! Lay down your arms!” She was addressing everyone. “All of you!”  
  
"More kindling to the fire! Brothers, sisters!" Sule’din spread his arms, a grin stretching across his pale face. "Our true mission begins!"  
  
During Sule’din’s mad yelling, something caught Krem's attention. Glinting, sailing through the air—  
  
—and lodged itself in the head of one of the mages.  
  
Sule’din turned to look, and let out a cry of anguish. " _Lethal’lan_!" He turned wildly, to look for the one responsible. "Not Inquisition? Another feisty _shem_ , come to play?"  
  
A woman's voice came to answer.  
  
"You lads over there watch enough?"

Krem looked.

From the balcony of a building overlooking the port stood an olive-skinned woman, with sharp eyes and daggers ten times as sharp. To the untrained eye, her outfit would have just been provocative, but Krem knew that this was an experienced assassin who prioritized mobility. She looked down at them, and tipped her hat towards them.  
  
"Sorry my boys haven't been of much help," she called out, smirking. As she was saying this, the Antivan sailors left their stations and moved to join them, without even a hint of a grudge. "Alright there, Cassandra?"  
  
Krem glanced at Cassandra. "You two know each other?"  
  
The Seeker looked caught between relief and disgruntlement. "Isabela."  
  
The woman named Isabela chuckled, and leaped off the balcony. She landed with practiced dexterity, and sauntered over to them, as one would perhaps take a walk in the gardens on a beautiful morning.  
  
"That's _Admiral_ Isabela to you."  
  
*  
  
The Lavellan elves were outnumbered.  
  
"Stand down," Cassandra said, stepping in front of Krem. "Do not force our hand."  
  
"I believe that was the point," Sule’din sneered.  
  
"If Melodrama wants a fight, let's just give it to him," Isabela said, twirling her daggers. "Especially if he's the reason why my ship's stuck in her berth for no good reason."  
  
"No!" Cassandra looked to Isabela. "We must not harm them—"  
  
"Too late for that," Isabela rolled her eyes. "See that one over there, spurting blood and writhing like a—"  
  
"Enough!" yelled Sule’din. "We will not bow! Kill them—"  
  
He was silenced as an arrow found its mark in his chest. He looked down at it, surprised, before falling to his knees and collapsing with a thud. Cassandra turned, furious, to see Sera glaring straight at him, bow empty.  
  
"Fucking shut up already."  
  
"Sera! These are the Inquisitor's—"  
  
Sera was already drawing another arrow. "They're not family if they hurt you."  
  
"She has a point," Isabela said, and took off without further preamble, daggers at the ready. Her sailors followed suit, drawing their swords, and clashed with the Lavellan elves in a flurry of steel on steel.  
  
"Cassandra, this is a fine mess," Dorian said, slamming the butt of his staff on the ground, gaze heated. "I suggest we clean up."  
  
"But the Inquisitor—"  
  
"I'd rather we survive this meeting and live to find out what's gotten these elves so riled up," Iron Bull cut in, drawing his double-bladed axe. "Sorry, Seeker. Chargers, form up!"  
  
Cassandra's chest grew tight. She reluctantly drew her sword, and gave them a half-nod.  
  
"Maker help us," she said, and dived into the fray.  
  
*  
  
None of the elves survived.  
  
Cassandra could only watch helplessly as Isabela's men gathered the bodies, striding across bloodied ground to lay them all in a pile. A hand touched her shoulder.  
  
"Don't look so sad, sweetheart. It was either us or them," Isabela peered at her. "I'd rather it was us. Wouldn't you?"  
  
Cassandra shrugged Isabela's hand from her shoulder, huffing in frustration. "What's done is done. And we are still far from getting answers to all this nonsense."  
  
"Seeking passage to Wycome?" Isabela asked, smiling warmly. "Some of my men overheard you in the tavern. I don't really give a shit about pirates, seeing as how I'm one myself—how about you kids come with me? The Orlesians won't make a fuss if I promise them I won't come back."  
  
"I..." Cassandra shook her head. "I have no real option." She couldn't tear her eyes from the pile of dead bodies. People she would have to account for, once the Inquisitor woke.  
  
"Admiral! This one's still alive."  
  
"What? The one with the arrow in his chest?" Isabela let out a low whistle. "I know a fighter when I see one."

They walked over to where Sule’din was, sprawled on the ground from Sera’s attack. The Seeker took him by the collar of his leather armor and forced him into a sitting position. She noticed the rapid rise and fall of Sule’din’s bleeding chest first. And then she saw the look in his eyes—a blaze of determination, a stubborn light. He was looking directly at her as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“We have cleansed—Lavellan.” He took a deep breath. “It—is—done.”

“You haven’t killed Revas,” Cassandra said, leaning close. She felt the anger flare inside her, and understood why so many would raise their blades against the Inquisitor’s kin. “She is on the brink of death, but we _will_ bring her back.”

Sule’din’s eyes widened. “You—misunderstand…” He smiled, showing his bloodied teeth. “The red dust will cleanse, renew. My brothers and sisters have been through the refining—the red dust— _awakens us_ —”

“Red lyrium.” Dorian approached them with a dark shadow upon his features. “Those _fasta vass_ bastards took red lyrium.”

“Deposits—all below, where the _durgen’len_ dwell. We find it, we—follow it—even above.” Sule’din’s eyes rolled backwards before refocusing again. “The red dust— _frees_ us."

“The Deep Roads,” Isabela said, clicking her tongue. “Those poor fools found an entrance and decided it would be great to _ingest red lyrium_.”

“No!” Sule’din coughed, and blood spurted from his mouth. Cassandra flinched. “It was—the shems… they offered it—to us—claimed it was—wine… a peace offering in light of—in light of the Duke—” He closed his eyes, but he was still speaking. “We drank—we _trusted_ —and now we _see_.”

“The Lavellans were poisoned and driven mad,” Cassandra whispered, understanding. “Wycome—”

“Is _ours_.”

Cassandra’s grip on his armor slipped a little.

“You—poor fools—” Cassandra bowed her head. “And you murdered your own keeper?”

Tears sprang to Sule’din’s green eyes. “She was to join us—she was to—breathe in the dust and—sleep first—then wake—but she said no.” He let out a strangled sob. “Oh, _mamae_ …”

Cassandra could hear no more of it. She released Sule’din and, with an uncomfortable churning in her stomach, got to her feet and walked away, but not before hearing Isabela command the sailor to end his life.

She found Sera hiding behind the harbor master’s post.

“Don’t tell me,” Sera muttered, eyes distant. “We’re fucked?”

Cassandra sighed, and brought a hand up to her face. She tried to rub the images from her eyes, of Sule’din’s mad smile, of his sorrow, to no avail. She sank down beside Sera, weighed by guilt, and placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder.

*

_1 day later_

Leliana had been working through the night when Josephine burst into her office, all the color drained from her face.

“Josie—” Leliana got to her feet, moving around her table to meet with her old friend. “What’s the matter?”

“Cassandra sent a missive back to Skyhold, detailing their findings,” Josephine said, voice trembling. “They never made it to Wycome. They were ambushed by Lavellan elves.”

“And?” Leliana brought her hands to Josie’s arms. “What happened? Are they safe?”

“The elves are all dead.” Josephine shuddered. “And Wycome has fallen to red lyrium influence.”

Leliana bowed her head, fear and uncertainty roiling in her gut. Her duties as Divine would have to wait, it seemed.

“And there’s more.”

“What is it?” she asked quietly, meeting Josephine’s frightened gaze once more.

“The poison was also red lyrium. They meant for it to enter Inquisitor Lavellan’s blood.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, this is the last of a flurry of updates. i think. WHO KNOWS HOW LONG I WILL RIDE THIS HIGH. another flashback, this time. thanks for the support, you guysssss

_3 weeks since the appearance of the Breach_

There was nothing particularly impressive about Lavellan.

In fact, Sera would even go so far as to say that Lavellan freaked her out. Their first meeting in Val Royeaux had gone swimmingly, though Sera now realized the deception behind first impressions. First impressions didn’t really count, and Lavellan was proving that belief to be true.

It wasn’t that Lavellan was a terrible leader or an abysmal fighter on the field.

It was that she was painfully earnest about anything and everything, and that, unfortunately, included all the _elfy_ bits. She would broach the subject of the elven Creators with Sera as though it _wasn’t_ something that gave her a splitting headache, and she would ask if Sera would one day like to have the vallas’lin herself, and what would she do if she discovered her parents belonged to a Dalish clan and has she ever thought about Arlathan—

At least Lavellan shared their mutual resentment every time Sera made a caustic remark about her heritage. _Her_ heritage, not _theirs_. Lavellan could get pretty broody when made angry, and sometimes—just sometimes—Sera would purposefully let slip a remark just to enjoy the show. There were so many things she didn’t like about Lavellan. Nearly all of it aligned with her general disdain for Dalish culture. Lucky her.

And worst of all, Sera found her pretty despite everything. Sera hated anything that had to do with magic, but she couldn’t help but look a little longer when Lavellan summoned a thunderstorm, or use that freaky little Anchor thing on her hand to close a rift (though closing rifts were always a source of relief for Sera). And there was that annoying habit of stepping in front of Sera every time they were in battle, casting a barrier over her like she was going to _die_ if she so much as tripped over a rock.

“So you… hate her.” Iron Bull tilted his head to the side, squinting with his single eye. “Or… you like her? I’m not—I’m not sure what your angle is, actually.”

Sera dragged a hand down her face. “I don’t like her, right? So friggin’— _elfy_ and full of _magic_ and just friggin’ _wrong_. Like… freaky, innit? How can one person be so wrong?”

“So wrong, it’s right?” Iron Bull grinned. “Don’t fool yourself, _imekari_. There’s a reason why you keep picking fights with her—even in the middle of an actual battle.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Like I would hit that, right?” Sera sneered.

“I may have only one eye but I see just fine,” Iron Bull said. “Oh, hey, boss.”

Sera closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, ignoring the lurching in her stomach.

“Hello, Iron Bull,” came Lavellan’s voice. “Thought I might join you for a chat, but I see you’ve got company.”

“Oh, no, don’t go,” Bull got to his feet. “Sera and I were just talking about you.”

Sera opened her eyes and glared at the Qunari.

“Oh?” Lavellan said with casual disinterest. “All good things, I hope.”

“Nothing but the highest praise. Honestly.” Iron Bull gestured to the empty seat beside him. “We’d _love_ to get to know you as a person instead of a rift-closer. Right, Sera?”

Sera made a noise and shrugged.

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? _Ma serannas—_ I mean, my thanks.”

Oh, and the ‘accidental’ Elvish? Sera just wasn’t buying any of that.

*

_4 weeks after the appearance of the Breach_

_The night after the Adamant incident_

Sera couldn’t stop the shaking in her hands. Her mind was in a constant state of unrest, rattled by the haunting experience in the Fade. She took another mouthful of the strongest ale the Herald’s Rest had to offer and swallowed quickly, ignoring the burning in her throat. She would have a few more pints, and then sleep would come to her. Probably.

The chilling touch of the Fade never left her, even after the tavern had been vacated and the bard Maryden finally relented and left after the hundredth rendition of that awful song about her. Iron Bull had been out of sight the entire day, and even now he hadn’t returned, so late into the night. Krem had said he needed some time alone, since the Fade bit had shaken him up quite a bit, but Sera thought they’d probably fare better dealing with the trauma sitting side by side at the bar.

No such luck.

The door to the tavern swung open with a creak. Sera turned, hopeful—

“Sera?” Lavellan was at the door. Of all people.

“Oy, you,” Sera said, none too pleased, and turned back to concentrate on her drink. _Only half a mug left. Shite._ “Tavern’s closed.”

“I saw the lamp still burning from the outside. Thought I might come in and check on whoever it was.” Wood creaked and whined under the Inquisitor’s footsteps, getting louder and louder as she got closer and closer. There was the faint sound of a sniff. “You’ve been drinking.”

“None of your friggin’ business, innit?” Sera sighed, staring at the liquid in her mug. “I’ll blow out the lamp before I go to bed, yeah?”

“Sera.” Lavellan’s hand touched her shoulder, and squeezed lightly. “About what happened at Adamant…”

Sera clenched her fists, feeling a tight sensation in her chest, like someone was strangling her by directly crushing her heart with icy fingers. “Yeah. It happened. Bummer. That Warden guy’s stuck in—in _there_.” She shuddered involuntarily. “Too fucking bad. Debrief over.”

Lavellan sat herself on the stool beside Sera. A cool hand came to touch her shaking fist. “You’re trembling,” Lavellan murmured. “Sera, look at me.”

Sera glared into her mug, ignoring the contact. She worked her jaw for a few moments, before finally managing shakily, “Don’t even pretend you know how— _this_ —feels.”

“ _Ir abelas, lethal’lan_ —” Lavellan paused. “I mean to say, ‘I’m sorry’. Had I known you feared the Fade so much—I’m the Keeper’s First, so it is _elvar’el_ —harder for me to… comprehend such reservations.”

“You and fucking Egghead, right?” Sera managed a bitter laugh. “So above it all. Bet that felt like a friggin’ picnic, didn’t it—”

“ _Din,_ it did not.” Lavellan’s hand closed around hers. “I was also afraid.”

“The way you went for those fucking demons,” Sera muttered. “I hated you so much.”

Lavellan’s hand stiffened on top of hers. “Why?”

“You just don’t get it, yeah? You never had a problem with all that Fade shit,” Sera said, finding strength to keep her voice steady. “But I did. It’s just not me. I’m not Dalish, I don’t have your freaky tattoos and I don’t trust _magic_. But it never mattered to you. You just do what you do, right, and it doesn’t matter if I—” She sighed, sharp. “You and Egghead, right? Friggin’ wrong, that is.”

“I’m wrong?”

“Not— _you_ —the…” Sera glanced at Lavellan. “I just hate feeling lost. I don’t want to deal with all that crazy shit. So it’s not real to me, yeah? But you’re here and I remember—” She got to her feet, knocking over her mug of ale in the process, “—that _thing_ knew what I was scared of and—it was such a nightmare!”

“Sera—”

“And you! Friggin’ you!” Sera took a step back. “How could you make me go there with you?”

Lavellan’s gaze softened, and she, too, got to her feet. But every step forward, Sera matched with one backwards.

“Don’t even touch—don’t,” Sera warned. “I don’t want to hear your explanation, because I don’t understand your friggin’ Elvish half the time and I’m not Egghead. I don’t understand you. I don’t even know you! And you—made me need you, in there—”

“You needed me?” Lavellan’s voice was so soft, Sera might not have heard her at all if she hadn’t stopped her own angry rambling.

“Yeah, _focus_ , will you?” Sera let out a growl of frustration. “I’m—look, I’m done, yeah? I didn’t sign up for a tour around the Fade. But you made me do it anyway, innit? It’s just you—” She took a step forward, now, encouraged by the way Lavellan’s expression was crumbling, “—and your elfy life—” and another, “—and your _vallas’lin_ or whatever the fuck—” and another, “—and all I get is a headache and—”

She left her yelling unfinished and grabbed Lavellan’s face in her trembling hands. A second stretched far longer than it was supposed to. Lavellan’s grey eyes glimmered in the firelight, and for the first time since they’d met, Sera could see the tracing of her tattoos properly.

Her skin was so soft.

“Sera,” Lavellan murmured, closing her own hands over Sera’s. “I’m sorry.”

She smelled like the forest.

“ _An etha, lethal’lan_.” Lavellan’s breath was hot against her lips. It was wrong. It was so wrong, to want nothing but this. “Be safe here.”

Sera dragged her thumb over the Inquisitor’s cheek, lightly. Something flared within her chest, something that wasn’t anger but felt a lot like it, and it made her release Lavellan.

“You and Egghead have a nice life, yeah,” was all Sera said before she fled.

*

The Frostback Mountains were a horror to traverse at night. Sera cursed loudly against the roar of the wind as she left Skyhold behind, taking heavy steps to wade through the snow, making her way down to wherever the fuck she was going next.

Above, the Breach crackled and rumbled like an endless thunderstorm. Sera kept her eyes religiously on the path ahead and wrapped her arms around herself—she would find her way. Orzammar wouldn’t be far once she found Gherlen’s Pass—but which way was she going? Was it north? Was she even facing north?

“Sera!” The wind nearly drowned Lavellan’s voice completely. “You’re going to freeze to death out here! Sera!”

“Fuck your shit!” Sera screamed, and kept trudging through the snowy terrain. She looked over her shoulder and saw three figures heading in her direction. Probably two soldiers, along with Lavellan. She hissed in frustration.

“Inquisitor, we should return—” a soldier was yelling above the snowstorm, but Lavellan was having none of that.

“No! I won’t leave her!”

Sera’s heart clenched. Her teeth was beginning to chatter, and even all the anger in the world couldn’t keep the ice from her bones. She dropped to her knees in the snow, her body growing numb to the chill as she shivered violently again, eyes closing shut—

“Inquisitor, she’s over there!”

“Sera!”

Sera shook her head. “Not—coming—back—”

The sky flashed green as the Breach began to expand, and then there was a bright flash of orange, yellow, red—

“Sera, stay with me!” Lavellan’s voice was so close to her ear, and her hands—her hands were _on fire_ —

 _Revas_ , Sera thought, as warm hands came to touch her neck, trailing up to her face.

The heat gave her strength. She opened her eyes, and saw in the darkness a face she couldn’t possibly want to see again.

She reached up to touch Lavellan’s face with her stiff hands, and felt the Inquisitor shiver under her touch. The heat grew. Someone was draping a cloak over her, and someone was yelling that they get up now—

“ _Vir assan,_ ” Lavellan leaned forward, enveloping Sera in her arms as the warmth grew into a bubble that fought off the storm. “ _Vir bor’assan… vir adahl’en_. Stay with me, _ma vhenan_ , please—”

Sera summoned the strength to tilt her head back to get a good look at the one holding her. She watched Lavellan’s frightened expression for several moments.

And then, against her better judgment, crushed her lips against Lavellan’s.

Sera hadn’t brought up the subject of leaving since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought the idea that Lavellan couldn't keep Elvish/Elven (whichever) from slipping in her speech every time she's in the presence of either Sera or Solas was pretty cute. 
> 
> HAPPY (SORTA) TIMES OVER. BACK TO PRESENT DAY NEXT


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you know that you can't spell the title of this fic without 'penis'

_Aboard the_ Siren’s Call  
_Present day  
__1 day after the Jader incident_

Their route would take them along the perimeter of the Free Marches, past Kirkwall, down the Waking Sea, towards the Amaranthine Ocean. Wycome was just south of Antiva, on the northeastern edge of the Free Marches, a coastal city more than anything. Cassandra had never been to Wycome herself, but the Inquisition had presence there and she’d heard a great deal about it from Cullen.

Unlike Jader, Wycome’s ports were larger, and was a favored stopping point for merchants and traders who had come to export and import goods. The naval authority of Wycome boasted an impressive fleet and defense along the coastline—necessary, since pirates infested the nearby waters, and there was raider presence on the nearby island of Estwatch. Whether or not the raiders and pirates mingled was none of Wycome’s concern; safety was the priority, and instead of spending resources in trying to retake Estwatch, most of it was spent building fortifications and defenses. In recent years, however, talk had surfaced that the Free Marches was planning to reclaim Estwatch once more, with Sebastian Vael’s name on the Marchers’ lips.

Cassandra truly couldn’t say if the rumors held any weight or not. Sebastian had been angry the last time she’d met him in Kirkwall, after the Champion chose to spare Anders’ life after his actions. It was a bad call on Hawke’s part, but Cassandra knew it didn’t mean Hawke condoned the destruction of the Chantry. She shuddered at the memory, the image of the building in ruins, and the blood red sky—

She shuddered, despite the heat of the afternoon.

If Sebastian still held the burden of vengeance in his heart, there was no way to guess what he would be willing to do, even after the resolution of the mage-templar war. The Inquisition hadn’t heard of any activity coming from Starkhaven since Sebastian’s last attempt to march on Kirkwall.

Cassandra looked to the Free Marches in the distance. They were not so far away from the coastline that she could not see the twins of Kirkwall.

“I’m almost tempted to make a stop there,” Isabela said, appearing by Cassandra’s side. “Drop in on Aveline and Donnic. I heard they have a son now, you know.”

They were on the forecastle deck, leaned against the railing; Cassandra could taste the sea on the wind. She couldn’t imagine a life like this, waking up to find yourself surrounded by waters and a wide spread of sky over your head.

“That’s… good to know.” Cassandra looked down at her hands. “At least people are still holding it together, somewhere in Thedas.”

“Aren’t you?” Isabela nudged her lightly. “You’re still alive. I’d say that’s holding it together as well.”

Cassandra shrugged. “Most of the Seekers are dead and gone. It’s a new world, but… so much was lost in getting here.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Isabela said, looking out at the sea. “But you have to admit, it’s one heck of a ride. Who knew I’d have the Inquisition on board my ship?” She chuckled to herself. “Next thing you know, I’ll start having babies myself.”

Cassandra glanced at Isabela. Her expression had grown distant, distracted.

“Have you had contact with Hawke?”

Isabela sighed. “I haven’t heard from him since he left Skyhold for Weisshaupt. We told each other we’d never wait on a letter and get on with our lives, but…” The pirate threw her hands up. “Here I am. Waiting.”

“He might not have had the chance to get a letter out,” Cassandra offered. “Weisshaupt is remote, above all things. The Wardens there are reclusive, at best.”

“And bloody problematic,” Isabela added, displeased. “Haven’t you heard? There have been whispers of infighting among the Grey Wardens.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. “It is… worrying,” she finally conceded. “But Hawke is no ordinary man.”

“He will fall if a blade cuts into his flesh. He’s spectacular, and also a spectacular idiot, but…” Isabela looked away. “Not invincible, as much as he likes us all to believe.”

Cassandra understood that all too well.

*

_Skyhold  
2 days after the Jader incident_

Cullen was having a headache.

He was standing at his desk, looking over the scattered letters and missives he’d received from the past few days, when someone knocked on the door. He waited, lifting his eyes. 

“Commander?” came Leliana’s voice. “It’s Leliana.”

Cullen exhaled, half in relief. “Come in.”

The door swung open and the spymaster entered, dressed in her usual garb instead of the finery from Orlais. He’d almost forgotten she was now Divine Victoria. It seemed like they’d only gotten word from Orlais yesterday, that Leliana was to be named the next Divine, as Justinia’s successor. Cullen had thought it apt; there was no one more devoted to Justinia than Leliana had been. And yet, she had embraced this appointment with sadness.

It was, of course, clear. Every second she spent as the Divine was every second spent remembering the destruction of the Conclave, remembering Corypheus and the death of her closest friend.

But she had used that pain, that grief, and turned it into action. In the month since the closing of the Breach, Cullen believed Leliana might have even been happy to carry on her predecessor’s legacy, ushering in a new age.

Now, as she stood in his office, wearing an expression of exhaustion, Cullen truly wondered if she’d found her calling after all—as Divine, or as spymaster. It was hard to tell, and he wasn’t often one to pry.

“Any word from King Harrowmont?” Leliana asked, brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes.

“None yet,” Cullen said, glancing down at his cluttered desk before returning his gaze to Leliana. “But I would be a fool to believe he doesn’t care about matters concerning the Deep Roads.”

“We should have sent one of Josie’s diplomats. Maker knows we would have had a reply by now.”

“Josephine’s been busy with the authorities in Jader after the… unfortunate confrontation with the Lavellans,” Cullen said tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “I had hoped things wouldn’t get out of hand, but…”

“They were deranged, as far as Cassandra and the rest could tell.” Leliana’s gaze was certain. “Even if Sera hadn’t gone along with them, I think the results would have been the same.”

Cullen huffed. “I suppose. And now we wait to deliver the news to Revas, when she wakes.” He shook his head. “I cannot do it. She deserves nothing of the sort!”

“She will find out, one way or another.”

“I know.” Cullen clenched and unclenched his fist. “I shan’t think of it until I have to. I need to focus on getting support from the Free Marches to assist Cassandra in Wycome.”

“Has there been correspondence from Kirkwall? Starkhaven?”

Cullen brushed aside some loose documents. “So far, the new Viscount of Kirkwall has pledged himself to our cause. Guard-Captain Aveline will be sending a sizeable number of men and women to Wycome in the coming week. Ostwick, Markham and Hercinia have promised assistance, and are on standby. Starkhaven, however—”

“No word?”

Cullen nodded, grave. “No word. Tantervale has also returned with silence.”

“They are too far from Wycome to make a fast enough trip, in any case. The support of Kirkwall, Ostwick, Markham and Hercinia is at least, assuring,” Leliana said, brows furrowing. “Cullen. You have not been sleeping.”

“Neither have you,” Cullen returned. “Don’t presume to lecture me, Leliana. I know my limits.”

Leliana smiled, slight but sure.

“Also,” Cullen went on, “hasn’t Orlais called you back to the Sunburst Throne yet? I imagine they’re agitated that Divine Victoria has returned to the Inquisition without prior warning—”

“They have requested my presence back in Orlais, yes,” Leliana admitted. “But I will not leave until I am certain the Inquisition no longer needs me.”

“That is… not going to bring consequences?”

Leliana shrugged. “Perhaps there are some who are beginning to call for Divine Victoria to step down. Perhaps it is irresponsible of me to want to drown out the masses. But I never promised to sit on that large chair and work from there.” Her lips curled into a wistful smile. “Maker, I don’t even have a proper desk to work with. And they wouldn't allow ravens.”

Cullen snorted. “You could just ask for a desk.”

“Perhaps. But right now, Revas needs me. She needs all of us.” Leliana clasped her hands behind her back. “And I will not sit by and be a Divine of inaction.”

“That is hardly the term I’d use to describe you. The reforms you’ve made in just weeks after you left Skyhold—” Cullen paused. “I may not agree with you on some of your decisions, but you _are_ making an impression. You terrify people, and you have their love and respect at the same time. It is…” He smiled at last. “It’s reassuring to have you with us still.”

Several loud knocks on the door interrupted their conversation.

“Commander!” It was Josephine. “Commander, are you there?”

“Yes, come in, Josephine.” The alarm in the Ambassador’s voice did not bode well, and from the look on Leliana’s face, she knew it too.

Josephine burst into the office, looking flustered and disheveled. She looked from Cullen to Leliana, eyes hazed with sheer panic.

“It’s the Inquisitor. She’s awake!”

*

Blackwall wouldn’t say that he hasn’t had a bad day since the Inquisition’s victory against Corypheus.

He’s had plenty of bad days to last for a lifetime. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to single out a day he thought was the worst. Sera’s pranks had been atrocious, but he saw the humor in them (sometimes). Stripping naked from losing at Diamondback to Solas had been an experience. Being set up on a date with Dagna—courtesy of Iron Bull—had been amusing, at the very least.

But now, hiding behind his shield as he attempted to calm a very angry, very feral Inquisitor—

 _This_ was a bad day for Blackwall.

“Vivienne, can’t you just stop her from—” He dropped into a roll and dodged the chair hurtling towards him, “ _—throwing furniture_!”

“Holy shit!” Varric ducked behind the Inquisitor’s desk. “People? Bianca’s getting jittery—”

“I would do that if she didn’t have such a high resistance to _magic_ , my dear,” Vivienne said, terribly conversational, as she deflected bolts of lighting and fire. “With that said, I’m actually quite pleased she’s become such an accomplished mage.”

“Now is not the time!” Blackwall yelled.

“ _Shems_ ,” the Inquisitor snarled. “You deceived me with false friendship! I see you now!” Shards of ice began to rain down on them, and the air grew chilly. Lavellan continued her rambling in Elvish as she continued her onslaught, summoning a snowstorm in the middle of her own room.

Vivienne erected a barrier between them and Lavellan, just as Cullen burst into the Inquisitor’s room.

“Inquisitor—” He ducked, just as a whip of electricity passed over his head. “What in the Maker—”

“ _Ar’tu na din!_ ” Lavellan hissed, energy crackling in her palms.

“Cullen, would you be a dear and put your templar training to use?” Vivienne was still holding up the barrier, though from her unruffled expression it was impossible to tell that she was rushing him to do it. “It would probably cause Blackwall no small amount of distress if he has to run his blade through her.”

“Would you please _just stop making conversation and do something_!” Varric yelled from behind the desk.

Cullen drew his sword and went straight for Lavellan.

*

He collapsed right after dispelling her magic. His body screamed for lyrium, the familiar need coming back to him in full force. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that Lavellan had encouraged him to abandon it, the blue dust that had fueled him for so long—

Someone caught him before he hit the ground. “I’ve got you,” came Blackwall’s gruff assurance. “Didn’t think you still had it in you, Commander.”

Cullen groaned. “I do not.” He craned his neck slightly. “Revas?”

“Unconscious and not dead, thank the Maker,” Varric said, crouched beside Blackwall and still clutching onto Bianca. “Madame de Fer’s got her in one of those fancy spirit prisons.”

“It will hold,” Vivienne said, out of view. “I will be draining her mana reserves regularly from now on.”

“Any chance you can drain the insanity from her, too?” Varric quipped.

Vivienne made no comment on that.

Cullen got to his feet with Blackwall’s help, one arm draped over the man’s shoulder. His insides felt like they were burning, and there was a yearning he could not shake off. He hissed, upset at the way his body was suddenly craving lyrium again, like he hadn’t triumphed over it the last time—

Varric brought over a single chair that had been left unscathed from the ordeal. Cullen nodded in thanks and sat down, breathing heavily, and glanced at Lavellan, encased in Vivienne’s magic.

 _Red lyrium,_ he had been told. _The elves did this to her._

“I will get word out to Cassandra and the rest. They will want to know,” Josephine said quietly, eyes transfixed on the Inquisitor’s sleeping form. “Excuse me.”

“I will go with you,” Leliana said, and followed Josephine down the steps.

The door closed shut, seconds later, and Cullen dropped his head into his hands.

*

She had been dreaming of Lavellan again.

Sera scaled the ratlines of the _Siren’s Call_ with practiced agility, deciding that some recreation would do her some good while they had a week or so to go on the waters. She didn’t like traveling by sea much, and was often prone to seasickness, but nobody needed that kind of information.

She climbed the main mast now, though her mind was still heavy with thoughts of Lavellan. A part of her longed to be back in Skyhold, sitting by Lavellan’s side, but she knew she would not rest until the ones responsible paid for their crimes. The revelation that Lavellan’s assassins had been her own kin jarred Sera, but she’d delivered the arrow to Sule’din’s chest with no regrets anyway.

She had to finish what she had come out here to do. She loved Lavellan too much to do nothing.

Revas would understand. They had been trying to kill her and Krem, first—and then they tried to kill _everybody_ —

 _But it wasn’t their fault,_ Sera thought, tucking herself away in the crow’s nest near the top of the main mast. _Someone else did it. Someone else made this happen—_

 _You killed my family,_ Lavellan’s voice rang in her mind, still fresh from the nightmare Sera had woken from. _I wanted you to meet them, but you killed them instead._

Sera closed her eyes, hugged her knees, and saw Lavellan’s accusing gaze.

_You promised you’d come to Wycome with me. And now?_

_Now you’re going to Wycome without me._

_And you’re going to kill every last one of them._

_How could you?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story has taken on a life of its own. i'm no longer in control.
> 
> also updating character tags as i reveal them. and by 'reveal' i mean that they are just making entrances unannounced. rude tbh

The _Siren’s Call_ was a sturdier ship than most.

She pulled into Hercinia’s port after five days at sea, something Isabela proudly attributed to the exceptional architecture of her vessel. Word had arrived, when they docked at Ostwick for half a day to resupply the _Siren’s Call_ , that Kirkwall’s viscount was to send ahead reinforcements to rendezvous with the Inquisition in the city state closest to Wycome, where they would march on the coastal city from there. The news had eased an infinitesimal amount of Cassandra’s constant anxiety; the death of the Lavellan elves encountered in Jader still hung over her like a hammer, waiting to fall.

Still, they were not going to retake Wycome with all ten of them.

A guardsman stood at the base of the lowered ramp, waiting to greet them as they descended from Isabela’s ship. Cassandra stopped midway, something occurring to her, and she turned around to see Isabela at the top of the ramp with a satisfied look in her eyes that seemed to say, “I told you so.”

Cassandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, this ship is finer than most I’ve been on.”

Isabela’s lips curled. “That’s more like it, Cass.” She paused, as though she were on the edge of saying something but thought better of it. “Good luck out there, Seeker. I’m sure me and the boys will hear of the Inquisition’s victory soon enough.”

“We could use you out there,” Cassandra said, unsure. “Based on what I saw at Jader... and if Varric’s tales about you are to be trusted.”

Isabela let out a laugh, a triumphant sound. “Of course they are. Every single version.” Her smile remained in place, though there was a tinge of regret in her voice. “Sorry, love. I’d stay and fight but I think it’s time I took this ship northwest. There are things I have to do, places I have to see.”

“Hawke?” Cassandra asked.

Isabela nodded. “It’s for the best,” she said, voice wavering. “I really do hope you win.”

Cassandra hopped off the ramp and watched the _Siren’s Call_ pull out of the docks.

“That depends on how you define victory,” she said softly.

The guardsman snapped into a precise salute as she rejoined them. He was perhaps no older than Sera, though there was a hardness to his eyes that spoke of experience and well-instilled discipline. Cassandra couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him from somewhere, knew the familiar set of his jaw and the sharpness in his eyes…

“Lady Seeker,” the guardsman said. “I’m Lieutenant Solomon Barris of the Kirkwall Guard. Welcome to the Free Marches.”

“Barris?” Cassandra repeated, disbelief coloring her tone. “I know that name.”

Solomon flinched, and his salute faltered. “You speak of Ser Delrin Barris, of the Templar Order? He was my brother.”

The memory of finding Delrin’s mangled body was still fresh in Cassandra’s mind.

As though sensing her discomfort, Solomon smiled, briefly. “I never knew him, Seeker—or my other brothers. I was Bann Barris’ bastard son, never formally acknowledged. I was sent from Ferelden when I was twelve, and never looked back.”

“That is—depressing,” Dorian conceded. “All things considered, of course.”

Solomon shrugged. “It’s not such a bad thing now. In any case,” he returned his focus to Cassandra, “it’s time we met up with the rest of the battalion. Handpicked by Guard-Captain Aveline herself.”

He led them out of the bustling port and into the heart of Hercinia. Unlike her Orlesian neighbors, Free Marches architecture boasted no great amount of color or pomp. Roads and pathways were built with washed stone, and the buildings—embassies, the Chantry, the marketplace—all resembled Kirkwall in appearance, and in color. It was no wonder people here considered themselves Marchers first before aligning themselves with the city-states in which they were born.

Still, every city had its definitive features. Hercinia’s was the royal palace (separate from the state house, which held the courts, housed the guardsmen and the viscount’s throne)—no larger than the grandest chateau Orlais had to offer—and an old proving arena left behind by the dwarves of old, which also served as the elven alienage. There were whispers that below the arena lay an entrance to the Deep Roads, one that stretched all the way back to Orzammar, but this speculation remained whispers and nothing more. The Viscount of Hercinia had made no move to investigate the claims, and would not risk unleashing another Blight upon Thedas, or offending the elves, at any rate.

The guardsmen and women from Kirkwall were neatly assembled in the square, before the state house of Hercinia. The state house looked more or less like the Viscount’s Place in Kirkwall, with weathered statues of ancient knights keeping vigil. One could see the proving arena from the square, beyond the royal grounds to the east of the state house.

“Lady Seeker.” A man, who had been inspecting the soldiers, spotted them coming from afar and came up to meet them. “First Lieutenant Donnic Hendyr of the Kirkwall Guard.”

“Lieutenant. I remember you,” Cassandra said. “We met under… difficult circumstances.”

“As do I. And that was just you doing your job in a time of need, I’m sure. Allow me to thank the Inquisition on behalf of the Guard for fixing the sky,” he said with a kind smile.

“Is that it?” Sera asked, brows knitting together. “This is what we’re taking with us to Wycome?” She looked to Cassandra accusingly, rather than Donnic.

“A hundred, no less,” Bull remarked. “I don’t doubt your captain’s eye for talent, but Wycome is… fairly large a city to cover.”

Donnic bristled at their words. “I can assure you that the captain has picked only the best for the march on Wycome. That,” he added, “and the Viscount of Hercinia has agreed to deploy _his_ men as well. I understand that Hercinia’s archers have a reputation.”

“It is more help than we expected,” Cassandra said gratefully, though she was looking pointedly at Sera and Iron Bull. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Her gaze slid back to Donnic. “When will we be able to make the march?”

“As soon as we receive Hercinia’s deployment. I should meet with the guard-captain here. Solomon, you’ll attend to their needs?”

Solomon slid into a respectful salute. “Of course, Lieutenant.”

Donnic smiled, grateful, and retreated into the state house, up the steps.

*

When they had gotten word from the Inquisition regarding Wycome, Donnic had been the first to volunteer his service.

Aveline immediately disagreed, and had said that Barris’ leadership was more than enough. Donnic knew that it had been out of love and a fear of losing him, but he was not so naïve to believe that he could live forever behind the walls of Kirkwall. He would one day die, whether quietly or in the midst of a roaring battle, and Death’s touch did not falter, did not discriminate, especially when it was time.

He was a father, a husband, and a man of duty. Being these things did not always mean having the privilege of making the safest choice.

“You will return, or I will march on Wycome myself,” Aveline had said, before kissing him goodbye. Wesley had cried into his father’s embrace. Donnic would let the memory of them both spur him on, he thought.

He nodded at the two guards standing by the entrance to the barracks—so familiar, he thought wistfully—and entered to find Hercinia’s guard-captain, Thane Reiss, just leaving his office.

The man’s blue eyes flickered in Donnic’s direction. “Lieutenant Hendyr. I was just about to come tell you that the archers will be ready in just a few.” His smile was genuine. “Getting nervous, are we?”

“Who doesn’t, Captain?” Donnic returned, friendly. “What with all this talk about a revolt, and that awful business with the lyrium…”

Thane nodded, tension coming around the edges of his brows at the mention of red lyrium. “Yes, especially that blasted lyrium. Always coming up recently, hasn’t it? Just a month ago, I was staring up at the gaping hole in the bloody sky, wondering if it wasn’t the Maker come to take us all in one fell swoop!”

“Suppose somebody just wants to shake things up a bit,” Donnic said lightly, ascending the steps back out into the main hall alongside Thane.

“Awful taste in entertainment. Fishing would pass the time,” Thane snorted, his moustache rippling with his displeasure. “Things are getting more and more ridiculous these days, Donnic. And am I supposed to believe that Starkhaven boy’s not going to lend assistance? After all that showboating in Kirkwall some time back?”

“There’s been no word from Prince Vael since his last visit. My wife’s tried to write him several times on account of their past friendship, but…” Donnic trailed off, not knowing what to say. What _could_ he say? He knew little about the reclusive prince, even when he was still living in Kirkwall with Hawke and the others. Aveline hadn’t said much, except that he had been a man of sincerity and honor. After the destruction of the Chantry, he’d disappeared in a flurry of rage and promised vengeance, and that was that.

“Royalty,” Thane said with no small amount of disdain. “And people wonder why every city-state isn't big on having their own monarchy—”

A man's scream pierced the air. Both Thane and Donnic drew their swords at the same time, exchanging looks.

“The viscount’s office,” was all Thane said before they headed for the source of the bloodcurdling scream. Other guards were mobilizing and forming up behind them, drawing their weapons.

Thane was the first to reach the door to the viscount’s office. Without hesitation, he kicked the door open with one swift thrust of the foot.

Donnic rushed in after him, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw an elf standing over the body of the viscount. The elf’s eyes flashed dangerously when he saw Donnic and Thane, and his lips stretched into an eerie smile.

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” the elf spoke coolly. “My human lords.”

Thane raised his blade in warning. “How dare—”

An arrow came to the back of his neck and through his throat, silencing him instantly. Donnic could only watch in horror as Thane fell to the ground, clutching at his bleeding throat. He turned around to find three more elves waiting outside the office, their arrows pointed directly at the Hercinian guardsmen. Only one of the three was wielding a staff, energy sparking and crackling dangerously at its head.

Donnic turned back to the hysterical elf.

“Shh.” The elf put a finger to his pale, cracked lips. “Don’t make a sound.”

*

Dorian felt the surging energy in the air, though it seemed a bare echo. He leapt to his feet, startling the Chargers and Sera, and glanced in the direction of the state house. Even Solomon and Cassandra stopped their conversation to look at him curiously. Only Iron Bull was not alarmed, and rose to his feet calmly. 

“ _Kadan_?” Bull murmured questioningly, concern slipping into his voice. “What is it?”

“Magic,” Dorian hissed, meeting Bull’s single eye. “Lots of it.”

Just at that moment, elves poured into the square.

*

Cullen was struggling to slip on his gloves, still weak from the ordeal, when Josephine entered his office without even so much as a single knock.

He soon forgot his irritation, however, when he saw the alarm in her eyes.

“Ambassador?” His hand fell to his sword. “Is it the Inquisitor?”

“No,” Josephine replied quickly. “We have a visitor. She says she might be able to help.” With that, she stepped aside, revealing a familiar face at the door.

“Morrigan,” Cullen whispered.

Golden eyes came to meet his own. Her request was clear, as clear as the fear evident in her eyes.

“We must speak.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, like, just a heads up that all the discussion and whatnot about red lyrium in this chapter (and beyond) are all purely speculative on my end. if it's not in the wikis, it's from the dark corners of my mind.

They adjourned to the war room. Josephine went to collect Leliana from the rookery while Cullen draped a spare cloak over Morrigan’s trembling form. He had noticed it the moment she entered his office, eyes wide and unable to keep her hands still. Something was deeply distressing her, and for all the time that he’s spoken with her, or even observed her, Cullen had never known Morrigan to be a woman easily shaken or daunted.

Moments later, the double doors swung open, revealing Josephine and Leliana. Cullen saw the shock in Leliana’s expression as she laid her eyes on Morrigan, and the spymaster immediately approached her, a hand extended in concern.

“Morrigan,” Leliana said softly, touching the witch’s arm. Her blue eyes flickered over in Cullen’s direction. “What’s going on?”

“We have yet to find out,” Cullen supplied. He glanced at Morrigan, and then added, a little uncertainly, “Lady Morrigan?”

The witch’s gaze lifted, consternation in her eyes as though she hadn’t realized where she was until now. She wrapped her arms around herself, clutching tightly at the edges of the cloak Cullen had placed over her shoulders.

“We were in the Crossroads, when they took him,” she began, her voice brittle. She looked to Leliana. “Kieran. They took Kieran.”

“Who?” Leliana asked, mouth curling. “Who took him?”

“Elves,” Morrigan hissed, with so much sudden venom that it was hard to tell she had been fearful and shaking just moments before. “They had Briala’s name on their lips.” She took a deep breath, slowly turning from Leliana, and took a few steps. “I knew not the reason why they were flitting in and out of the Eluvians, but ‘twas clear she led them. They were Dalish, some of them. I chased them and emerged in the Deep Roads, but lost them when darkspawn got in the way.”

“An elven artifact in the Deep Roads?” Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “How is this possible?”

“The elves, too, had their underground tombs. From what I could tell, a cave-in had created a pathway to a lost thaig. Or perhaps someone tunneled through, to access the eluvian,” Morrigan said, eyes still bright with fresh agitation. “‘Tis unimportant. I fought my way through the darkspawn, but I lost them in the Roads.” There was a sharp hiss, an intake of breath, and Morrigan went on, “I had heard of the trouble in Wycome and of Inquisitor Lavellan’s predicament. I was wondering if we shouldn’t offer each other assistance, since they are—undoubtedly related.”

“We will do everything we can to find Kieran,” Leliana said, before Cullen could put in a word. Her hand fell to Morrigan’s, and clasped it. “This must be hard for you.”

“Hard,” Morrigan repeated, her voice taking on a dark edge. “That would not even begin to describe it. At best, it is a nightmare, one that I wish I could wake from this very instant!”

“You said Briala was involved,” Josephine chipped in, frowning. “Shouldn’t she be in partnership with Empress Celene presently? Why is she stirring up the elves so?”

“I suspect her allegiance with Celene has long since faded,” Morrigan said. “Kieran and I… were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Her voice was saturated with regret. “The eluvians, it seems, are no longer lost to the _elvhen_.”

“Then she is behind the Lavellans—and Wycome,” Cullen said, understanding. “She manipulated them with red lyrium, as well?”

“Red lyrium deposits I did see while in the Deep Roads,” Morrigan nodded, grave. “Whether or not she has repurposed them to suit her plot, I cannot truly say.”

“Cassandra’s report said that the nobles of Wycome tricked the Lavellans into ingesting red lyrium,” Josephine pointed out. “It could not have been Briala. Perhaps just an unfortunate turn of events, that tied in with her plans.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “How convenient for her,” he growled. “Whatever it is, this is no longer about containing Wycome and ensuring the Lavellans survive. If Briala is using the eluvians to travel back and forth—she must be planning something larger than just a city revolt to make a point.”

“She has longed for the elves’ freedom from their alienages,” Morrigan said. “Celene had mentioned this to me, once. ‘Tis why I frowned upon your Inquisitor’s decision to spare her life, in the first place.”

“It has already been done,” Cullen said darkly. “We can only hope to stop the conflict before it spreads to other cities.”

“The eluvian network links to many different parts of Thedas,” Morrigan pointed out. “Depending on how long Briala has been working the elves, it may be too late to contain the disaster."

“We must not let this escalate into a war,” Cullen grimaced. “We must put an end to the red lyrium corruption, find Briala and take her into custody.”

“We would risk presenting ourselves as a threat to their rights.” Leliana’s eyes were narrowed in contemplation. “We could easily be blamed for letting the red lyrium incident happen in the first place. The city elves would take this as a sign that humans are beginning to move against them.”

Cullen threw his hands up in the air. “Then what do you suggest we do? Sit around and wait?”

“We need the Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “So many of her people look up to her because of her position of influence. We need her stable, and we need her back with us. She will then expose Briala’s underhand tactics, and—if she is responsible—her ruthless employment of red lyrium, and no one can say that the Inquisition is taking sides.”

“Politics, even in the midst of this madness!” Cullen let out a frustrated sigh and rested his hands on the edge of the war table. “If we are to do this, we should do it quickly.”

“But how do we cure Inquisitor Lavellan of that—awful poisoning?” Josephine asked.

“I have a theory,” Morrigan offered. “But you will have to trust me, and let me enter her mind.”

“Enter her mind?” Cullen bristled at the thought. “What would you even accomplish?”

Morrigan flashed him a knowing look, sharp. “You were once a templar, were you not? You know the use of normal lyrium, for both templars _and_ mages.”

“I do,” Cullen said. When Morrigan did not continue, he sighed. “Lyrium is what gives the templars their abilities. They provide mages with the ability to enter the Fade, fully conscious.”

“‘Tis that indeed,” Morrigan nodded, as a schoolmistress would approve of her student’s satisfactory answer. “Red lyrium, however, is not quite so delicate. Where blue lyrium gently encourages the mind to be open to the Fade and beyond, red lyrium seizes and wrenches open even the strongest minds, leaving them fully vulnerable and agitated. This would attract demons, as they turn into easy prey, their emotions an undeniable beacon. That is what, I believe, causes the violent reactions when the victims wake. The elves I saw in the Crossroads when they took Kieran were obviously not in their right minds, incapable of sense. Demons have a hold on their minds, and their grip is strong. Partnered with Briala’s influence…” Morrigan left the rest unsaid.

“They can’t be all mages,” Cullen said immediately. “How would they even enter the Fade?”

“Red lyrium does not discriminate, I suppose,” Morrigan said. “With that said, I doubt those without magical abilities will be able to hold the strain and the torment. Inquisitor Lavellan would have some constitution, I imagine, to prevent her mind from fully breaking—for now. Those untrained in the arcane have a small window of time before the red lyrium aggravates them beyond rescue.”

Cullen shuddered. His body was still weak from lyrium withdrawal, but he could not imagine being at the mercy of the deadlier version of it. He had seen enough, from the opening of the Breach to Corypheus’ sound defeat, and had hoped that might have been the last of it.

No such luck.

“Then the elves are all doomed,” Josephine whispered, horrified. “We cannot get to them in time, and to send word to Wycome would take days, at best, with our best ravens.”

“All is not lost,” Morrigan assured all of them. “If they happen to stay off red lyrium before their minds reach breaking point, then they will regain their senses. Much like how you let go of blue lyrium, Commander. But they will be suffering much more than withdrawal, of course.”

Josephine clutched her writing board tightly to her chest. “But Inquisitor Lavellan did not ingest lyrium.”

“She did not?” Morrigan made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Unfortunate.”

“It entered her blood, by way of a poison dart,” Leliana supplied. “Surely that does not mean…”

“No. Because she did not ingest lyrium, the effects, I imagine, are more severe. The entirety of her will be deep in the Fade,” Morrigan said. “But not impossible to reach.”

“Fine. Do it.” Cullen looked down at the war table, at the map of Thedas stretched out before him. He glanced up at the three women before him. “Whatever is to be done, it must be done now.”

“Good. I agree. But first,” Morrigan turned to Leliana, “I need you to send a letter for me.”

*

Hercinia was under siege.

The Kirkwall contingent had been scattered immediately, but the reappearance of Donnic Hendyr—bruised and bleeding from the head—had managed to rally most of them back and push the elves back into the alienage. The elves were still putting up a good fight, however, and even now Sera could still hear the violent skirmish outside from within the state house.

This was all wrong. They were only supposed to rendezvous in Hercinia and march on Wycome, but now even _more_ bloody elves—who were probably not Lavellan—had shown up to the party and wrecked the entire place, putting a bump in their progress. There was a growing anxiety, somewhere deep in her chest, that threatened to steal the breath from Sera’s lungs, so she elected to sit down beside Dorian and let Cassandra do the angry pacing.

“This was supposed to be a short visit to Wycome. In and out,” Dorian said, frowning beside her. “I suppose the Inquisition never gets the easy assignments.”

“That Breach should have been a good indicator, _kadan_ ,” Bull said, standing before them.

Dorian scoffed. “Yes, of course, how foolish of me.” There was the slightest slump of his shoulders. “This is a fine way to visit the Free Marches.”

Sera scowled. “It was only supposed to be just about the ones in Wycome. Not the whole bloody community, innit?” She felt the beginnings of a migraine, at the edges of her mind, the more she thought about it. “Friggin’ hell.”

“This is bigger than Clan Lavellan, now,” Dorian said, scratching his jaw absently. “More complicated than just snotty nobles getting back at the elves for gaining a council seat in Wycome. They sounded like they had an agenda—even the ones here. But they’re too far gone to have been so—together.”

“Someone’s been talking to them,” Bull followed Dorian’s line of thought. The Tevinter nodded.

“I reckon they need a bit of a word with my arrows,” Sera grumbled, watching Cassandra pace up and down before the viscount’s throne.

A few minutes later, Solomon Barris entered the throne room with Donnic by his side. Both looked worn and battered, but Donnic had managed to stem the flow of blood from his temple and the cut on his face. Cassandra swept down from the dais to meet them, worried and expectant.

“News?”

Donnic pressed a damp cloth to his cheek. “We are gaining ground on them. I’ve managed to organize Hercinia’s guardsmen and my men from Kirkwall, and we’ve more or less retaken the square.”

“The merchant’s district is still under disarray and so is the port, but we’ll be advancing on them soon.” Solomon’s expression was haunted. “All that’s left is the alienage. It’s just a few miles north, beyond the slums—where the proving arena is. Unless we contain things here, we’re not going to be able to make the march to Wycome without getting shot in the back.”

“I understand,” came Cassandra’s weary reply. “We will assist with the situation in the alienage.”

They emerged from the state house and into the ruined square, minutes later. Sera still remembered the pristine look of Hercinia when they’d left the _Siren’s Call_ —now all that remained was destruction and debris, and multiple smoke trails spiraling into the sky from different parts of the city. She distractedly wondered if Lavellan had woken yet, and wondered if she was just as—affected—as these elves were.

The thought shook her, and gave rise to a chill on the inside.

Solomon was already marching towards the crumbling merchant’s district with his battalion. All that remained were the guards Donnic had assigned to watch the square, and the rest of the contingent that would be following them in the charge into the slums.

“We’ll take three separate routes leading into the slums and cover our bases,” Donnic said, mostly to Cassandra, as they descended the steps of the state house. “The College of Enchanters have spared us several mages as best as they could—they are holding off the elves on the west side of the city as well. The idea is to send signal flares when opposition gets too thick, and regrouping accordingly.”

“We must not kill the elves,” Cassandra stressed, for what seemed to be the hundredth time. “It is important that we spare them the consequences of another’s crime.”

“I can’t promise that, but I see the sense in your request. The mages will be of great help, in this case.” Donnic glanced out at the chaos before them. “Can’t imagine anyone saw this coming. We’ll attempt to minimize casualties, but…”

“I know,” Cassandra said grimly. “Maker, help us all.”

*

“Have you heard, your highness? More and more people pouring in from the Free Marches.”

Alistair looked up at Bann Teagan, eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding. I thought that was a joke, because Fereldans were practically invading the Free Marches with their panic ten years ago, and people were just making fun.” He squinted. “You’re not making fun. That’s your “I’m serious” face, right now.”

“That is a cause for concern,” Anora said, brows coming down in a frown. “It’s not related to Starkhaven, is it?”

“It seems it isn’t,” Teagan said, bringing the cup of tea up to his lips. “Starkhaven has been silent. There are whispers of some infighting in the outer cities, like Wycome and Hercinia. An elven revolt, or so people say.”

“Elven revolt?” Alistair set down his cup on the dining table. “That doesn’t sound optimistic in the least.”

“You have no business taking ship to the Free Marches and handling things yourself, Alistair,” Anora said, sharp and quick as always. “We should think about how to handle the refugees, however. That kind of… anti-human sentiment would no doubt bleed into Ferelden.”

“You’re not saying we should kick them back across the Waking Sea,” Alistair said dryly. “No, that’s exactly what you’re saying, aren’t you?”

“Alistair,” Anora began, with that infuriatingly placating tone of hers, “We cannot risk—”

“You know, I’ve always wanted to look into improving the lives of the elves here in Ferelden. Remember that, Bann Teagan?” Alistair looked to Teagan, who now looked supremely uncomfortable in the dining room of the royal palace. “My ideas just keep getting shot down, funnily enough.”

Teagan tugged at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. Anora was fuming now—it was a furious darkness that came straight from her eyes, and bled into every other part of her face.

“We’ve talked about this. It would be hard to even get them to meet with the nobility in the first place. Especially after that nasty incident so long ago with Uriel's son—”

“Aren’t we, like, the _ultimate_ nobility, though?” Alistair shrugged. “I’m just saying, no one can overrule the king.”

Anora narrowed her eyes into angry slits. “And then you’d have nobles barking madly in the throne room everyday after that for the rest of your life. Husband—”

“Wife,” Alistair returned, smirking. “You know I can handle that, right? Ten years as a monarch does that to you. Experience, and whatnot.”

Anora shook her head. “Theirin confidence is infuriating.”

Alistair was about to infuriate her further with another comment when Bodahn—whom he had accepted into his service just a week ago when he returned from Jader—burst into the dining room, waving an envelope in his hands.

“Your Majesty—”

“Honestly, ser dwarf—” Anora began, but Alistair waved her down and rose to his feet.

“What’s the matter, Bodahn? Is that a letter? _For me_?” Alistair burst into a grin. “It better be Levana telling me she’s found a cure for the Calling, or something.”

“Er, no,” Bodahn looked at the letter in his hands, unsure. “It, ah, bears the Inquisition’s seal.”

“Oh, that.” Alistair took the letter from Bodahn and turned it over—and there it was. The symbol of the Inquisition. “Probably not Leliana, since she always sends a raven. Had to clean my window pane several times, I keep telling her to just send a messenger who won’t shit on my property…” He pried the envelope open and unfolded the letter inside.

There were only several lines, hastily written.

_The elves have taken Kieran. The Free Marches are falling._

_They have taken our son._

Alistair felt his heart stop for a painful, singular moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how this happened, honest. one moment i was writing and the next, alistair showed up and was all, "hey, you need to let me have some screen time." damn theirins!
> 
> (levana is the name of my female amell, by the way. just so we're clear. cool? cool.)


End file.
